Lord, What Fools These Mortals Be!
by slpy650
Summary: Dashing escape for their lives?  Check.  Ridiculous injury to Rose?  Check.  Apparent full-body paralysis?  Check.


**A/N: Currently a one-shot, but I'd still like to continue it, maybe... Title is a quote from _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ by William Shakespeare. All comments, reviews, etc. welcomed!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who - it belongs to the BBC.**

**Lord, what fools these mortals be!**

_Let's have some new clichés. – Samuel Goldwyn_

Considering everything, it was a wonder she ever managed to make it back to the TARDIS at all. The little buggers had come out of nowhere. She was almost glad they did. Contrary to the Doctor's promise, the planet they'd been exploring was anything but beautiful and was most certainly the dullest place he'd ever taken her. And she included the Powell Estates in that.

'Just a quick look around,' and 'just a little longer,' and 'did you taste/smell/hear this one, Rose?' had brought them further and further down the long, dusty aisles of junk being panhandled by predictably shady characters. She almost wanted to hit him when he presented her with another rusty metal something-or-other and told her to lick. Her glare was lost on him, however, when he decided to do the honor himself.

And that's when the rumbling had started which had coincided with her spirits lifting. Sure, she'd no idea what was making the awful noise or the tremble of the earth, but it had to be better than eating spare ships' parts. More exciting, at the very least.

Hand in hand they'd scrambled in the direction of the TARDIS, Rose throwing a glance or two over her shoulder while the Doctor gave her a running commentary (ha ha) on just what was chasing them.

'Knew they might be round, but they're really so rare – thought surely we wouldn't see one, especially on this scale – really quite a treat, actually.'

He said it so offhand, as if they'd been talking over tea. Again, the urge to smack him overcame her, but considering they were running for their lives, she managed to hold back.

From what her few cursory glances suggested, the 'they' were some sort of dog-sized hedgehogs, and the 'on this scale' meant the size of this particular stampede which was impressive. 'Really quite a treat,' she assumed, was being trampled. She could still hear the twisting of metal and screams of predictably shady characters as the things continued to plow through the now far away booths.

As the TARDIS came into view on the otherwise bare horizon, Rose was filled with relief, almost more so for the shopping expedition to truly be over than managing to outrun a crazed charge of alien hedgehogs.

But still a distance away from their target, a sharp stinging pain sliced her foot and she stumbled, hopping on her other leg in great, impressive bounds. The Doctor slowed to accommodate her, letting her use him like a crutch as she leapt along. But then she was running full tilt again, the pain forgotten, and the TARDIS was looming ever larger.

The Doctor slammed the door just in time to let the first cloud of hedgehog driven dust slip in with them. It settled over the grating in a fine mist.

Meanwhile, Rose was hissing, balanced on one leg like a crane, her foot cradled on her thigh. The Doctor moved to grab her elbow and help her balance. If he said anything, she never heard him. If she had been thinking clearer, she would have found that fact odd.

As it was, the pain had returned to her foot, and she carefully made to remove her shoe with all the delicateness of a bomb squad. She gasped as it came away and something brushed painfully near her toes.

No blood, she observed.

Her sock came next, but she barely had time to see the fragile needle pricking her skin just beneath her two smallest toes. Nor was there time to wonder how it could have pierced the thick soles of her trainers. For the grating beneath her one good foot suddenly shifted. Images moved slowly and silently before her eyes.

The console. The time rotor. The Doctor. The Doctor's mouth. The Doctor's hand. Her hand, clasped in the Doctor's.

She wished she'd passed out then. Right then. Right in mid fall. Instead, just as suddenly as the floor had shifted, it came up to meet her. The pain in her head, her back, and her butt assured her she was conscious. The vision of the Doctor's horrified expression hovering over her put a giant seal of approval, complete with embossed gold letters, on her ever wondering otherwise.

YOU ARE AWAKE.

The Doctor was fussing over her, and that, generally speaking, would not have bothered her. In fact, in certain circumstances, the Doctor fussing over her would have sent shivers up her spine and unspeakable pleasures to certain places of her body…not that she'd ever admit it.

No, it wasn't the fact that the Doctor was moving about frantically around her, and now lifting her underneath the arms and dragging her bodily across the grated floor. The thing that was really bothering her was the fact that someone had accidentally hit the mute button on the remote control.

Or to be more precise, the pause button.

On her brain.

For while she could clearly see the Doctor, she could only clearly see him while he was directly in her eyesight. As it was now, all she could see was a small corner of the jump seat and a smidgen of the console. Mostly, it was just the TARDIS' ceiling.

The other problem was, when she _did_ see the Doctor, she could not hear one single word he was so obviously speaking. And he was so obviously speaking a great _many_ words.

And the _other,_ other problem was, no matter how hard she tried to cradle her head in her hands, because it did _really_ hurt, and no matter how hard she tried to ask, 'What the hell is going on?' she could only just…stare. Straight ahead.

Which was now providing a lovely view of the TARDIS' corridors. Or well, the ceiling of the TARDIS' corridors. Oh, and the Doctor's chin.

Dashing escape for their lives, check. Ridiculous injury to Rose, check. Apparent full-body paralysis, check.

Yeah, so considering everything, it was really a wonder she made it back to the TARDIS at all.

~oOo~

Okay, so she couldn't talk. Or move a muscle. No big deal, really.

She was safe on the TARDIS and the Doctor was looking after her. At least, she thought he was.

She also couldn't hear a thing, and seeing as how she hadn't seen him since he'd clumsily lifted her to the infirmary bed, Rose couldn't be entirely sure he hadn't gotten a needle in his shoe as well. He could be lying on the floor right beside her bed, as paralyzed as she, and she'd never know.

Or he could just be finding the right anti-needle thing to help her, of course. Because there he was again, fresh as a new day. Not a hint of worry on his face.

He was saying something to her and smiling. She couldn't read his lips as he wasn't in her direct line of sight, but Rose imagined he was saying something along the lines of, 'Look what you've gotten yourself into this time, Rose! But it's nothing to worry about – I'm brilliant!'

Or something very near to that.

Now he was showing her something in his hand – oh, of course. What is the brilliant, anti-needle lifesaver? A needle. If she could have, she would have sighed. Or possibly cursed.

But, since she couldn't do either, she continued to stare at the rather boring, white ceiling of the sickbay while the Doctor took it upon himself to shove up the sleeve of her shirt. Thoughtful of him, really.

Several pricks of a needle later and the Doctor was drifting above her again.

She could see him speaking slowly, her name, over and over.

It occurred to her to wonder what she must look like. She settled on a corpse.

Considering that, she shouldn't have been surprised when her hearing slowly came back, and his familiar voice was muffled less and less until it was perfectly clear. Clear as a bell, including the clearly raw, clearly heart wrenching emotion accompanying it.

She shouldn't have been, but she was surprised. And confused.

And also her eyes itched.

'Rose? Rose? Rose?' he continued. Each breath of her name silently pulled at her heart and initiated something inside of her that she did not want to face right now.

So instead of facing it, she blinked. And smacked him in the face.

That shut him up.

Okay well, the smacking bit was an accident. Her muscles were just overactive, obviously. At least she had the grace to slur an apology while he held his nose and blinked back tears.

Rose brought her arms up again and cupped the back of her head in her hands, sans violence. Giving the rather prominent bump she found there a good rub, she looked at the Doctor sympathetically. And then realized she should be receiving the pitying looks.

The Doctor was quick to accommodate her on that, casting a long, You Scared Me Half-to-Death look.

'Are you alright?' he asked her, his voice much more even now.

Even so, Rose remembered his haggard pleas, and it sent her stomach doing flips.

So of course she answered with, 'My eyes itch.'

If looks could kill, she'd still be alive, because his grin was a mile wide. Ha…poetry.

'Right, of course! They've been open for far too long – let's see, I've got just the thing,' he was saying. He'd turned around and was digging through cabinets quite frantically.

Rose took the opportunity to sit up, the paper covering the bed crinkling loudly beneath her. She cringed. Why was there always paper? Surely he'd have something more…Spock?

'Right, here we are,' the Doctor said, standing in front of her now. 'Come on, tilt your head back, eyes open,' he instructed.

'Um – Doctor,' she whispered, her head dutifully tilted back while he put several drops of what she was sure was Optrex in her wide eyes.

'Yes?'

'What the hell was that?'

Yes, that's what she'd wanted to ask, wasn't it? That's what you were supposed to ask when coming out of an alien induced paralysis, right?

The Doctor stood back, putting the – nope, not Optrex, something rather purple and sparkly – onto the counter.

'Blink for me,' he said.

She blinked. A lot.

He grabbed her hand and bent it back until it touched her shoulder. He then repeated the action with her other hand.

His hands shot up in the air, and Rose had the urge to say, 'Reach for the sky!' But she didn't.

'Hands up,' he said.

She obligingly put her hands up, and his came down to shoulder level.

'Touch your right hand to my right hand,' he instructed.

Rose did.

Then she touched her left hand to his.

She stood up, she touched her knees, walked in a straight line, sang the alphabet backwards, and he gave her a lollipop.

Okay, it didn't exactly go like that, but it was close.

Finally, just before he put the big, pink happy face sticker on her shirt, the Doctor said:

'It was my fault.'

Now, Rose had known it was his fault, so his statement was certainly not earth-shattering. Neither was it all that enlightening. It didn't explain a thing she wanted to know, actually.

The Doctor was leaning against the counter, and if Rose had looked properly, she would have seen he didn't resemble the freshness of a new day, nor did he have a worry free face. If she had looked, she would've seen the thin line of his lips, the faint circles under his eyes, the mess of his hair, the haphazardly loosened tie.

But she was leaning against the paper covered bed, staring at her feet. The one bare foot had caught her attention, so she said:

'Gonna get my shoe.'

And then she left.


End file.
